The Sicilian's Proposition (8 page)

“Oh my beautiful Joanne, what an awful thing to happen to you.”

She nodded. “I always felt so guilty, though, Dante. As though it was my fault in some way.”

He stroked her face and looked into her watery jade green eyes. “Ah no, you must never think that way. What happened was an accident. Probably your father, as he could not swim, should have called for help, but his instinct was to save you, so he didn’t think straight. Maybe he did save your life in a way, even though he drowned himself, as people probably saw from the beach what was going on. He alerted them to the fact there was a child in distress.”

She nodded. She had stopped crying now. “You’re probably right, Dante.”

He held his hand up to her and she matched it with hers, their fingers entwining. It was a moment of bonding for him. “I think when you go back home, you need to see your mother, Joanne. You told me you haven’t seen her for a while. Believe me, it will be too late when she has gone. I miss my mother every day.”

“Yes, you are right, Dante. I need to…”

“You also need to tell her about the guilt you’ve been carrying around for all these years. You need to talk with one another. Now tell me, do you want me to take you back to the hotel, or would you like us to go on to Lipari as planned?”

“I think I want to go anywhere, Dante, as long as it’s with you.”

“Then,
amore mio
, we shall go to Lipari. I’m going to start the engine. Take your time and join me on deck when you are ready. You’ve had a shock but you will see, all of this will work out for the best and you will discover by the time you return to London what a healing place Sicily has been for you.”

Neither had eaten much on the boat, so by the time they arrived at Lipari, her stomach was growling with hunger.

“Would you like to eat, Joanne?” Dante looked into her eyes. He wanted to take care of her so much.

“Yes, please. I’m ravenous.”

“Are you okay now?” He stroked her cheek.

She nodded and he gently squeezed her hand. A heavy weight had lifted from her shoulders, and although now she felt a sense of relief, she was a little tired too.

“If you don’t mind, I think I’ll wash my face and freshen up before we get off the boat,” she said, trying to sound as bright as she could. That had been an awful scare for him earlier and he felt bad about it. She owed it to him to enjoy the rest of the trip. The past couple of days she should have been working on her feature article, but the truth was she had been having such a great time with the sights and sounds of Sicily, not to mention the tastes too. She hadn’t written a word, but she remembered everything. She’d brought her laptop with her but told herself there would be time to write later.

When they got off the boat, he told her all about the castle on the island and the famous mud baths from the volcano. It was an interesting place. He led her through streets packed with tourists, where leather goods like handbags and belts hung from shop walls and pretty colored pots and vases were displayed on tables and in shop windows. Outside, old women dressed in black with deeply etched tanned skin sat, making lace, crocheting, or talking in the shaded doorways. Elderly men smoked cigarettes and passed the time of day drinking cups of espresso or glasses of beer. Couples strolled through small alleyways hand in hand. Families ate ice cream on benches near the sea.

Each and every face told a different story.

“I am taking you to a charming restaurant where I would like to order my favorite ever meal,” he said, breaking into her thoughts.

“And what is that?”

“It’s called
Pasta Tagliatelle Liparese
. It tastes wonderful, Joanne. It’s made with fresh, red Sicilian tuna, which is famous for being the best in the world, black olives, capers, and seasoned with salt, pepper, and parsley…”

“That sounds wonderful, mouthwatering.”

“Oh it is, believe me.” He tilted her chin with his thumb and forefinger and descended for a long, lingering kiss that left her breathless and wanting more. That’s what she loved most about him, his spontaneity. She smiled. “I’m looking forward to it.”

He grinned, took her hand, and led her up some stone steps to a little restaurant overlooking the shoreline, where they could see the colorful boats bobbing on the sea.

After eating the first course, he looked at her. “Now don’t you feel better, Joanne? I know I promised you champagne, but I think we’ll leave that for the hotel later.”

“Hotel? Giovanni’s hotel?”

He shook his head. “No, I have decided we shall spend the night here. We could stay on the boat, but I think after everything that’s happened today, we should stay on
terra firma
.”

He was telling her what they should do whether she liked that or not. She was used to being her own boss, going to bed when she wanted, but then again she was a guest in his country. And when in Rome…

“Okay,” she agreed. “But don’t forget about Byrne. He could get cross that you’ve excluded him from this trip.”

“Don’t worry about him. I’ll get my brother to give him a few drinks at the hotel bar tonight.”

Although Dante’s tone was one of reassurance, when it came to the photographer, she didn’t trust him one iota.

“And now, Joanne, the
piece de resistance
, the
cassata
cake,” he announced when the waiter arrived at the table with a large, fancy-looking cake on a trolley.

She wrinkled her nose. “What is that?”

He smiled. “It’s a cake invented by the Arabs when they came to us in 700 AD. It’s made with baked ricotta cheese, then after the Spanish arrival, sponge cake was added too. We shall have some with coffee. It originates from Palermo.”

He snapped his fingers and ordered two espressos from the waiter. How she wished she had his confidence and command over others.

She watched him eating his cake; he enjoyed his food, that was for sure. But then again, Sicilian food seemed to arouse the senses. Flavors were so fresh here. Indeed, the history of the place and all its influences were interesting.

“So this Jackson Byrne, Joanne,” he wiped some stray cream from his lips with a napkin, “there is something else you have against him? There’s bad blood between you?”

She nodded. How did he somehow know these things about her? It was a mystery, as if he could see into her soul. Was she so transparent? But then again, she had always worn her heart on her sleeve and maybe that was a failing of hers.

“Yes. He’s a frustrated journalist of sorts. He never got as far as he’d have liked, so he took up photography instead. Don’t get me wrong, he’s an excellent photographer, but he’d love to be in my shoes as a journalist at the magazine.”

“So you think maybe he’s a little jealous of you?”

She shrugged. “I suppose you could say that. I got the job he wanted. To put it bluntly, I think he’d love to be the one writing this feature article about you. He wants the kudos, and he’d love to get into Polly Montgomery’s good books.”

He sat forward in his chair. “That’s your editor?”

“Yes. He’d love to be her golden boy.”

“And you are you not the golden girl then?”

Joanne laughed. “Ha, far from it. I’m the office rebel. She and I have gone more rounds in the ring than a pair of heavyweight prize fighters.”

He grinned. “I see. I’m guessing you speak your mind.”

She straightened and flicked back her hair. “Very much so. If I don’t like something or think something’s unethical, I’ll say so. But Byrne would do an exposé on his own grandmother!”

“That’s shocking,
amore mio.
It sounds as if the man has no morals.”

“Yes, but I learned my lesson about all of that stuff. It didn’t sit right with me when I worked at another magazine, so I resigned.”

“I like that, a woman with principles.” He grinned.

“And don’t you forget that next time you rip my bikini bottoms from me! That was really naughty of you.”

He took her hand across the table and kissed it. “Naughty Joanne, yes, but also nice. And that just about sums me up.” He looked into her eyes. A bolt of electricity coursed around her veins, warming her up inside. She trembled in anticipation of what might be to come.

***

When they arrived at the hotel he had in mind, although he seemed known there, he inquired if they had any vacancies for the night. So he hadn’t taken it for granted they would be sleeping together.

“Come along, Joanne.” As they walked through the foyer toward the lift, he reached out for her hand but stopped dead in his tracks when he encountered the tall, slightly balding, older man in front of him. Dante’s face reddened, his teeth gritted.

“What’s the matter?” she whispered under her breath, but he appeared to zone her out.

Dante stepped forward in front of the man so that he was invading his space, making it difficult for him to pass. The stranger looked at him and appeared to sneer. Then he said something to Dante in Italian she didn’t recognize. The man raised his hands above his head and gesticulated with wild emotion. Whatever he was saying didn’t sound very nice; his eyes widened and his nostrils flared. It was like a spark had ignited between both men.

Was Dante going to thump him? His hands were balled into fists at his side, his lips thin. She didn’t recognize this Dante. She was just about to pull him to one side when he unblocked the man’s path and stepped away. Then he took Joanne’s arm and led her toward the lift.

“What on earth was all that about. Is something going on?”

“
Pezzo di spazzatura
,” he shouted, over his shoulder. Nothing to concern you, Joanne,” he said in a blunt tone. “That man is a piece of trash. Scum.”

In other words, ‘Shut up! Joanne!’

She got the message. He wasn’t about to tell her what was going on, wouldn’t confide in her, especially as she had told him about her deepest, darkest secret. Did she really know Dante Alphonso at all? He seemed an open book, but now she wasn’t so sure. Why did he have such a bad reaction when he encountered that man? And why did he think he was scum?

By the time they got to their room, she was already yawning, her body ready for sleep, but her mobile, which she had kept switched off most of the time, was now ringing with urgency, and she noticed several text messages and voice mails had been left.

“Polly has contacted me…” It was Byrne’s voice. “She’s been trying to contact you all day…”

“Yeah?”

“She wants that article as soon as possible.”

“Well it’s a little inconvenient at the moment. Tell her I’ll e-mail it to her tomorrow.”

“She’s not going to be very pleased, Joanne. I’ve already e-mailed the photographs…You’re too busy swanning around with lover boy to do any work, aren’t you?”

It had been a long day and feeling she was almost drowning earlier had put a kind of perspective on things. Polly could wait, another day wouldn’t hurt. Even if she had her laptop with her right now, or went downstairs and went online, she wouldn’t do the article justice. Although it was all in her head, she had the bare bones of the article sorted. It had been an emotional day, and it would be better if she slept on things.

“Tough, she can wait until tomorrow,” she replied, surprising herself with her own tone. Byrne had grated on her nerves this past couple of days and she didn’t care anymore. Of course, what she did care about was Dante and writing a great article that did him proud for the man he was and the things he did for others.

The line went dead.

A little voice in her head chastised her.
Upsetting Byrne is never a good idea.
She chose to ignore it.

Dante looked at her with a genuine concern in his eyes. “What’s the matter, Joanne?” He handed her a glass of champagne.

She unfolded her arms, accepted the glass from him, and took a long sip. “I think I should be asking you that, Dante. It hurt you didn’t tell me what all that was about downstairs. You looked as if you could have punched the life out of that man in reception.”

“Sorry,
amore mio
.” He sucked in a breath and let it out again. “It was Ponti, the man Carla was seeing.”

“Oh? Yes, I can see that might upset you.” That should have been evident by his behavior, but she hadn’t considered it at the time.

“It’s not just that, though. The relationship had been going on for years, since Carla was sixteen. That shocked me the most. It wasn’t just a recent development.”

“I see.” She gently stroked his arm.

“So I have more reason to be annoyed than just their affair. My sister is devastated, but she never told me it was Carla her husband had been seeing. She stood by that man for years. She knew he had dalliances but thought they were all over, so to discover it was my girlfriend, the woman I planned to marry, makes it all the worse.”

She saw his eyes fill up; was he about to cry? Then she saw something else in them—pain. His family honor had been broken and that was a big thing for a Sicilian man. You break that at your peril.

She placed her hand on his shoulder. She could have wept for him herself; his pride was wounded. What kind of people were they to behave that way toward him and his sister? Yet could Carla be blamed? She had been little more than a child herself at the time, and even though it went on for years, she was manipulated badly.

“I don’t know what to say, really I don’t. I suppose it was like a double betrayal, Dante.” She hugged him, feeling the need to comfort him.

They drained their glasses and put them on the table.

He looked at her, lowered his head, and kissed her gently at first, and then with a passion. He pushed her back toward the bed and lay on top of her. His warm breath tickled her neck. His heady desire molded his face. He stroked her face and looked deep into her eyes.

“Oh,
amore mio.
You are the one person who keeps me sane at the moment. If it were not for you, I don’t know what I’d do.”

He plundered her mouth with his tongue and she groaned. He unbuttoned her thin cotton dress and ran his hands over the contours of her breasts. He helped her to lose the dress and unclipped her bra, and then he suckled first on one breast and then the other. He lowered his head and rained kisses on her stomach. Her body turned to liquid. No one had ever kissed her stomach before. It was so erotic as a tingles of desire coursed around her body.

Slipping his hand into her lace panties, he smiled and she moaned.

“Oh Joanne, you want me, I feel it. Your eyes are on fire.”

“Yes,” she said, looking into his; it was like looking into a mirror.

She stood and he fell to his knees, kissed her inner thighs, and inhaled the muskiness of her desire. She groaned as he hooked his thumbs under the rim of her panties and drew them down; she stepped out of them and lay back on the bed.